


Nothing Worthwhile Is Ever Easy

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: When Aziraphale hears Crowley praying in his sleep, it leads to confusion, and hurt feelings when he hears what Crowley prays for.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560190
Comments: 13
Kudos: 153





	Nothing Worthwhile Is Ever Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Drawlight's '31 Days of Ineffables' prompt 'wish', which is actually Day 19, so I jumped ahead. Sorry.

“You pray in your sleep.”

Crowley turns his head towards his husband, perplexed by his unsolicited announcement, the peculiar haughty mood behind it. “I what now?”

“You pray in your sleep,” Aziraphale declares. He glances up from his book and stares at the ceiling, stealing a quick sideways peek at his husband. “Well, not so much pray as you talk to God. A _lot_.” He returns to his book and says nothing else, as if that’s the whole discussion done.

Crowley, bouncing mindlessly between sites on the Internet, waiting for his husband to call it a day, slides his phone under his pillow and rolls onto his side to face him. “And what do I say?”

“I try not to eavesdrop. That’s between you and Her.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t.” Crowley watches Aziraphale, recognizes when he starts _pretending_ to read. He reaches out a hand and closes the book. “Tell me – what do I pray for? Hmm?”

“Little things,” Aziraphale says, eyes fixed on the cover of his novel, the hand holding it shut. “Nonsense. I barely understand. Besides, it doesn’t matter.”

“It must or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I just thought you’d like to know. That’s all.”

“Aziraphale …” Crowley pulls the book out of Aziraphale’s hands and stows it alongside his phone. The angel’s eyes don’t move, staring at the spot the book had been, holding that place in time until he can hide inside the leather cover, tucked safely between the words again. Had he really wanted to start this conversation? He’s been holding on to this secret for weeks. Perhaps the words just needed to come out, fall to the table like tarot cards.

Which means he needs to accept his fate.

“You pray … you wish that things could be different. That you never Fell.”

Crowley’s expression goes cold when those words find his ears, the tone that carries them. “And that offends you?”

“No. Because I understand.” Aziraphale fidgets with the sheet on his lap for lack of his book. His eyes shift, catch a glimpse of Crowley’s accusatory stare. “I do! And I wouldn’t deny you anything. But …”

“But …?”

Aziraphale lifts his head, his watery gaze meeting Crowley’s hard one, but only, Aziraphale knows, to hide hurt behind. “I’m being selfish.”

“You’re allowed,” Crowley says, and though he may be slightly wounded, he means it. “Go on.”

“If you didn’t Fall, I may not have met you. And I love you! I love you too much to ever …!” Aziraphale sniffles. Crowley sighs. His hand creeps across the mattress to find Aziraphale’s and squeeze.

“There’s no guarantee we wouldn’t have met,” he says softly. “If we’re meant to be together, we would have. No matter what. Then wouldn’t this be easier?”

Aziraphale looks at the hand holding his. He tries to smile but he can’t, and Crowley curses his God-awful habit of talking in his sleep. “Perhaps.”

“That’s all I want for us. Just once. _Easier_.”

“Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

Crowley chuckles. “ _You_ were. Once I got you in bed.”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up, his appalled stare countered by Crowley’s roguish smirk. “ _Rude_.”

“Meh. You love me.”

“I _do_ but that still may have been uncalled for.”

Crowley shrugs, flashes Aziraphale a conciliatory pout. Coming from anyone else, that gesture wouldn’t be an apology in any way, shape, or form. And it’s not much of one _now_. But there are some things Crowley doesn’t outright say, so Aziraphale interprets it as such. “Won’t matter,” the demon grumbles. “She wouldn’t listen anyway.”

“And why’s that?”

“You gotta pray the _right_ way – on your knees, use the right words, be respectful, suck toes, kiss ass. You know the drill.”

Aziraphale slides down onto the mattress and inches over, sneaking an arm around his husband’s waist for comfort. “I can help you pray, if you want to try perfecting it.”

“Demons shouldn’t be praying, love. It’s indecent. But, uh …” He scoots closer, his eyes locked on his husband’s mouth, those soft, plump lips of his all but beckoning to be kissed, and _savagely_ “… I wouldn’t mind a refresher course in _begging_. If you’re up for it.”

Aziraphale smiles. As far as apologies go, that’s a better one. “I can do that, too.”


End file.
